


Picking Up the Broken Pieces

by LoserFangirl



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Bucky Barnes Goes to Therapy, Bucky Barnes Recovering, F/M, Fluff, Gardens & Gardening, Hints of Stucky, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mentions of Tony Stark, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Steve comes in later, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, That's it, Therapy, Vivian Lancaster, bucky has one arm here, bucky is just a really sweet guy and he just needs to feel better, endgame ruined me so we're gonna not even talk about it, falling in love with with the therapist, i have a savior complex okay, no beta we die like men, thats the fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:13:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23270779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoserFangirl/pseuds/LoserFangirl
Summary: Vivian Lancaster is a renowned therapist working for Nick Fury. She helps patch together the agents who were decommissioned due to PTSD. Her next client? James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes. What happens when Bucky is alone in isolation with Vivian? Well, besides the obvious....Takes place between CA:CW and IW
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	1. Where Vivian And Bucky Meet

**Author's Note:**

> Hi lol this is my first fic on here after I took a short 3-year break from posting my works to the public.  
> I can't guarantee a great updating schedule, but this whole CV-19 thing is allowing me to write like crazy, so let's see how much I really get through this. Of course, much of it was pre-written and I started it 2 years ago, so there will be a bit of a change in the writing style.  
> I tried to edit this and catch as many mistakes as possible, but we all know nobody's perfect.  
> Finally, this fic is like, 95% Bucky being domestic, so take that for what it's worth.  
> This chapter (along with many more) contain mentions of suicide, suicidal thoughts, depression, anxiety, and the like. Please take caution of this. If these are a trigger, please don't read.

It was early in the morning when Vivian got the phone call. She was already awake, had worked out, showered, and ate breakfast. She was reading in her sunroom, the warmth of the morning sun settling in between her bones and comforting her. 

She picked up the phone. She knew the number.

“Director,” she addressed.

“We’ve got another guy for you. You ever heard of James Buchanan Barnes? Also known as the Winter Soldier.”

Realization slapped her in the face, “How bad is he?”

“He’s say-the-wrong-word-and-he’s-on-the-floor bad. A few of our agents have had to restrain him multiple times. Outbursts of anger, confusion. He’s even got symptoms of withdrawal. Whatever Hydra did, it fucked him up bad. He would be a great asset to the Avengers, but he’s too unstable.”

“Director… I don’t know if I can handle him. I mean, I did basic cases with your agents. PTSD, mostly. It sounds like he’s got more than just that going on.”

“Listen, Agent 39, Vivian. You are the only person I can trust to do this – and you know I don’t go around deciding to trust people. We need Bucky. He might be fifty shades of fucked up, but he’s reliable and loyal. Right now, he’s unstable. You have three months to make him functional again. He’ll be dropped in two hours,” Fury said curtly. The line went dead. Vivian exhaled and rubbed her eyes beneath her glasses. 

She had heard of Bucky. She knew he was dangerous; more so than the agents Fury gave her to rehabilitate. She had seen James on TV, the news of the man causing the bombing that killed the Wakandan king. She knew he was responsible – she corrected herself – Hydra was responsible for brainwashing James and causing the deaths of many people, innocent or not. 

Vivian knew a general idea of what James had been through, and she would need more than just three months to unravel what Hydra did to his mind. She could do the basic stuff within a month’s time. Work on the nervous tics, the paranoia, the most common triggers. It was the fine-tuning that was a bitch; the anxiety and depression, the anger, the understanding – or lack thereof, the night terrors. The list went on. It would take at least three times longer than the time Fury allotted. 

Deep down inside, she had a gut feeling that James was a good man, otherwise, Fury wouldn’t send him to her. Fury had never put her in danger he knew she couldn’t handle. She snapped her book closed and set on the table in final thought. She went and tidied up the already pristine guest bedroom. There was a queen-sized bed with a basic brown and white patterned comforter. A heavy quilt lay on the foot of the bed. The wooden floors matched the blades of the fan above her. There was a window behind a dresser that showed off her vast garden, and beyond that, the forest. Vivian double-checked the bathroom. The glass shower door and mirrors showed no fingerprints. There were a few basic toiletries under the sink in the vanity. Everything was there and everything was clean, just as she left it after she discharged her last patient two weeks ago. She made sure to give the entire two-story house a once-over before James was dropped off. 

In all honesty, she was nervous. He was a trained assassin. Sure, she’d worked with field agents – she was a field agent herself. But their level of combat was considered beginner next to the Winter Soldier. What if he did go haywire? What if she couldn’t help keep his emotions at bay when they were working? What if he didn’t accept her? Most importantly, what if he didn’t want to get better? What if he craved what Hydra pumped into him? Vivian picked at her frayed jean shorts.

It didn’t take long for the small fleet of black SUVs to show up. Vivian stood on the front porch, waiting for them. One agent who looked familiar crawled out of the first vehicle, making his way over. He handed a manila folder to Vivian and began briefing her on James Buchanan and what to expect. As he was talking, – something about triggers and having to mildly sedate him just in case he went off during the transport – another heavily padded agent pulled James from the middle SUV. His hair was pulled back in a half bun and he wore a navy long-sleeved Henley, the left arm tied into a knot from where his bionic arm would have been. Vivian heard of the scuffle that Tony and Steve had, resulting in James losing his arm a second time. 

He had a black duffel hanging from his right hand. He looked solemn to be arriving. Gravely tired. Emotionally worn. She could tell already that he knew that this was best for him and that he sincerely wanted the help, despite being forced to go through therapy anyway. Her nerves about James not wanting therapy faded. It had been a while since she’d seen a patient so visibly distraught. The gravel crunched under his tennis shoes as he walked up to Vivian. The agent had finished his briefing and thanked Vivian before heading back, but not before giving James a careful glance.

“Hi, welcome! Glad to finally meet you, Sergeant. I’m Vivian.” Vivian said. James nodded curtly. She looked back at the agents. She recognized one. Her name was Anna. Vivian helped her after a particularly bad time after her mother was shot and killed after she was kidnapped and used as bait for Hydra. Vivian politely waved to her. Anna waved back with a smile before crawling back into her assigned vehicle. The pair on the porch watched the fleet drive away.

James followed Vivian into the house and to his room. 

“This’ll be your room for the next few months, so don’t be afraid to get comfy,” Vivian said, turning in a small circle in the center of the room to emphasize her point. James set the duffel on the floor. 

“Thank you,” he said. “They- uh- got me all drugged up to get me here. Is it okay if I just take some time to recoup?” James’s eyelids drooped as if on cue.

“Sure thing. I won’t go anywhere.”

Vivian was eating a sandwich and scanning over James’s file when he woke up. She heard a yell that sounded like “Steve”, but she could have been wrong. She closed the file and picked up the plate she made for James. He was sitting up and panting when she opened the door. His head snapped to her. 

“How you holding up?” Vivian asked.

“Well, considering that I’m here….” James trailed off. Vivian smiled.

She could see his eyes drift to the sandwich.

“Is that –” he nodded his head toward the plate.

“For you, yes.” She handed the plate to him. He took it. “Today, I’ll let you get settled in. Give you the tour of the place. Tell you what’s going to go down. Tomorrow we’ll start working on making you better.” She stepped back and leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed. “Come get me when you’re ready, James.” She started down the hallway.

“Bucky.” She heard him say. She peeked her head back into the room. “I prefer Bucky.”

“Alright, then, Bucky,” She gave a warm smile and treaded back down the hall. 

It didn’t take long for Bucky to make his appearance. He handed his plate to Vivian, who put it in the sink. 

“Ready for the rundown?” She asked lightheartedly. Bucky nodded. She turned around in the kitchen. “You know what this is.” He smirked, his teeth almost showing. She pointed to the living room, where a gray cloth couch and a matching chair sat. They faced a gas fireplace underneath a TV. A coffee table sat between the couch and the fireplace on a large area rug. There were a few magazines and books underneath it. Bucky followed Vivian to the sunroom. It was filled with trinkets and green foliage. There were two rocking chairs and a gray futon. She led him outside and into the garden. The sound of trickling water caught his ears. There was a small manmade waterfall. He could faintly hear the pump working hard to circulate the water. 

“Did you make this yourself?” Bucky asked in amazement. Vivian shrugged.

“My dad was a landscape architect. He helped me make this.” 

There were many footpaths in the sunny garden. “The veggies and other foodstuffs are over that way.” She pointed to a path to her right. “Everything else is pretty much everywhere, I guess.” The smell of lilacs and honeysuckles mixed into a gentle perfume. There was a short tunnel with Creeping Jenny tendrils falling over the entrance. Vivian watched as Bucky gingerly touched the leaves, then gathered them aside as he walked through the tunnel. She could see his sense of wonder and curiosity show through. He was almost child-like. Vivian followed behind him, studying him. His stature was relaxed. His dangerous muscles showed through his shirt, but Vivian wasn’t worried in the slightest. She saw how serene he looked already. The man practically radiated peace. He was focused on taking in his surroundings. Bucky found some colorful Periwinkles and gazed at them until his slow stride carried him away. 

This, right here, Vivian thought to herself, he was content. He was in his moment. She was watching the real Bucky for who he was. She watched him put his nose into a Tiger Lily. He pulled away and looked at her, pollen all over his nose. Vivian couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You’ve got pollen all over your face,” she said. Bucky chortled at himself and scrubbed a sleeve over his face, effectively removing the pollen. They continued down the path in comfortable silence; he was observing the garden around him, where she was observing him. Bucky seemed a peaceful man, however, it was Hydra who corrupted, tortured, and scarred the poor guy for life. 

Vivian watched as Bucky reached out and touched a Lamb’s Ear. He rubbed the fuzzy plant between his fingers. He looked truly bewildered. Bucky met her gaze.

“It’s so soft,” he whispered.

“They’re called Lamb’s Ears for a reason,” Vivian chortled back. “Let’s go check out the veggies.” 

“Sure,” he said, “Lead the way.”

They made their way through the paths and to the foodstuffs. Strawberries were just beginning to turn ripe. There was a raspberry bush. Tomatoes, both cherry tomatoes and roma. Cucumber vines. Potatoes, carrots, broccoli. Watermelon, honeydew, pumpkins. There were some herbs, too. Vivian picked a leaf and held it out to Bucky. 

“Rub it in your fingers, then sniff it.” So Bucky did. 

“What is it?” He smelled the curiously sweet aroma again.

“Bee balm. Great for tea. I also have peppermint and spearmint.”

“What about this one?” Bucky pointed to a spiny herb.

“Dill.” Vivian said. Bucky pointed to another. “Oregano.” 

“I actually already knew. Just testing you.” He joked.

“Yeah, right,” Vivian rolled her eyes, arms crossed, “As you ask a gardener.”

The pair went back inside to finish the tour.

In the kitchen, Bucky and Vivian were facing each other. Vivian sat with her hands folded on the table. 

“Business. So what will go on is the basic treatments for PTSD. From what I hear, you aren’t doing so hot. I also heard you already have medication, which, I know, doesn’t stay in your system as long, but I trust you can use it in moderation.”

Bucky nodded and avoided eye contact, seemingly ashamed for being where he was. In rehab. Getting therapy.

“We’ll start with CPT, cognitive processing therapy, which is basically talking about what happened. We’ll analyze your situation and come up with easier ways to cope. Then we’ll do EMDR, eye movement desensitization and reprocessing. Basically, you will be able to remember what happened, but you’ll be desensitized to it. Your response to what happened won’t be so traumatizing and your brain will actually be able to sort those memories. Then I’ll teach you some more physical ways to deal with the trauma. Breathing techniques and muscle relaxation were a big hit with most of my previous patients.”

“How long will all this take?” Bucky asked.

“Fury gave me three months. However, with how much you’ve been through and for how long, it may take longer. Even with how intense this is going to be.”

“So we’re cramming for a test.”

“Exactly.”

Bucky chuckled, “I used to do that all the time in school. Study five minutes before the final, then fail miserably.” 

“Didn’t we all,” Vivian chuckled with him. There was a small lull. “One thing, Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“If something triggers you, tell me. If you need anything, even comfort, I’m here for you. Don’t be afraid of me. The only way we can get through this is trust in each other. The process is going to be brutal and taxing. I’ve had patients who couldn’t make it out of bed some days. I just want to be –”

“Honest with me. I know. I want to get better more than anyone.” Bucky interrupted.

When the day turned to evening, Vivian parted with her book in the sunroom. Bucky was there, too, rocking in the rocking chair, enveloped in a book she recommended. He was a good chunk into the thick, softcover mystery. She stood from the futon and stretched, knees popping. 

Bucky glanced up. Vivian was pretty, he thought. She wore a fitted Henley, sleeves falling a bit further than they were supposed to. Her shorts showed off her tanned olive skin and a tattoo of a sunflower on the outside of her right thigh. Her wavy light brown hair was up in a ponytail, which tumbled down between her shoulder blades. Rectangle glasses framed her face, and he caught a glimpse of her caramel irises before the warm sun glinted onto the lenses. Bucky caught sight of her midriff when she stretched her arms up.

“Where you going?” Bucky asked, glancing back at his book before she knew he was watching her.

“I’m gonna go water the garden. If you wanna come, you can.” She slipped into her tennis shoes before opening the screen door. Bucky set the book down and followed her back to the garden. Vivian turned on the water and pulled the hose from the side of the house. Then she started soaking the plants. 

“You familiar with gardening?” She asked. Bucky shrugged, hand awkwardly shoved in his pocket.

“Just the very basics. I didn’t really have the chance to try gardening.”

“Here, I’ll show you a little more about it.” Bucky stepped closer. He watched the stream of water. “Basically, when it’s dry out, water once a day. Usually, you should give the plants about twice as much water as you think they need.” A puddle formed in the mulch under the foliage. “You especially want to water the annuals more than the perennials because they die quicker, they don’t come back in the spring.”

“How do you tell which is which?” He trailed behind her. 

“Usually, they’re the smaller flowers, but I remember because I buy new annuals every year, so they’re easy for me to keep track of.” She aimed the stream at a terra cotta pot full of flowers, “Like these petunias.”

As she watered, Vivian taught Bucky what some of the plants were and went more in-depth on caring for each one. When they were almost done, Vivian smirked. 

“There’s just one more flower that needs to be watered daily, no matter what.”

“Which one is that?”

Vivian swung around and sprayed him. Something dark flashed through his expression before lightening with a bright, toothy smile. Vivian ran away from him, laughing, right as he reached out to grab the hose, but she was too quick. He chased her, but whenever he got too close, she blasted him. She ran down a path, and Bucky thought fast. He would intersect her. So he followed another path that wound around. Then he saw her with her back to him. He was the predator and she was the prey. He ran with trained light feet. By the time she turned around, it was too late. He let himself get soaked as he pushed through the stream and grabbed the hose from her to spray her. She shrieked in laughter and ran to kink the hose, but he kept kicking it away from her, laughing as well, watching her chase it while he kept spraying the ice-cold water on her.

“Okay! Okayokayokay!” She shrieked again. “I give up! I give up!” Bucky laughed at her but dropped the hose in compliance.

“You’d make a weak-minded agent, Vivian,” he said, still laughing. Vivian gave him a light-hearted glare.

“Let’s go in and dry off.” She smiled. Bucky helped wind the hose back up after Vivian turned the water off. 

After the two had changed and dried off, Vivian set to make dinner: a simple frozen pizza to be thrown into the oven. They sat at the table and conversed until long after their meal was over.

“Must be odd, having a superpowered arm one day, then it’s gone the next,” Vivian said. She saw his face drop a little. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have –.” She immediately fumbled.

“It’s fine. Just weird. Something to get used to.” There was a pause and a brief moment of silence. Then Bucky cleared his throat, “So what’s the meaning behind the sunflower tattoo?” 

“It’s kinda depressing,” Vivian said hesitantly. 

“I’m sure I can handle it,” Bucky reassured.

“In high school, my best friend was getting bullied. I tried to see the signs. I really did, but her mom found her in her room and knew she was gone as soon as she saw her. I was away that weekend, we even talked the night before she, ah –” a lump formed in her throat and she had to cut herself off before she could say the words.

“Killed herself… I’m sorry.” Bucky said it for her. Vivian fought back the lump and took a deep breath. 

“Sunflowers were her favorite. She told me she loved them because they gave her a sense of hope. They always pointed to the sun. She said,” tears fogged her vision and she quickly swiped them away, “She said I was her sun. I gave her hope. After she passed, I blamed myself. I didn’t give her enough hope or strength to go on. It destroyed me. I almost flunked my sophomore and junior years of high school.” Vivian sniffled and gave a blubbery chuckle. “Sorry you have to see me like this,” she said. 

“She inspired you, didn’t she?” Bucky wondered aloud, ignoring her last statement. His eyes were filled with pure wonder and curiosity and so much more. Vivian nodded.

“I went to a therapist for a short while, actually, and it helped. With the stress and anger and confusion. So I dug myself out of a hole with some help and decided to become who I am today. And I wouldn’t ask for anything less.” Bucky cocked a grin.

“That’s genuine passion if I’ve ever seen it,” he said. Vivian sputtered. She looked down and fumbled with her hands.

“Ah, thanks,” she mumbled, “What about your time with Mr. Stars and Stripes and the rest of the Avengers? How have they been treating you?”

“Oh man, did I miss Steve. He’s my best friend, you know. He helped keep me in check whenever we were around each other. Me too, I keep him on a leash, too. He has a tendency to impulsively do stupid shit. I don’t know how he survived without me.” Vivian and Bucky laughed. “Most of the team likes me, or at least tolerates me. But Tony, on the other hand, he hates me. He can’t even look at me. I get why. His parents were one of my Hydra missions. That’s why a lot of people hate me. Distrust. Fear that I might turn at any moment. Fear that I haven’t changed and that this is just a cover, that I’m faking this persona.” Bucky’s voice wavered. He touched his left shoulder.

“We’ll figure it out. We’ve got three months together. That means three months of getting better.” His metallic eyes met her warm ones with another onslaught of vulnerability. Vivian glanced at the time. It was late. The sun had set and the sky was dark. She could see the moon rising just past the tree line. 

“We should probably hit the sack. Tomorrow’s gonna be a long day for the both of us,” Vivian said, changing the subject. She stood and stretched. “C’mon, Bucky, I can tuck you in,” she teased with a small smile to lighten the dark mood. He got up and followed her to his room. He sat on the bed and looked at her like a dog awaiting its next command. Vivian smiled and leaned against the doorframe.

“I hope you know I wasn’t being serious,” She said lightly. Bucky chortled. 

“I’m not that much of an idiot,” he replied.

“You know where my room is if you need me. My door is literally always open if you need me.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Goodnight.”

“Sleep tight.” And with that, Vivian walked out and to the end of the hall where her room was.


	2. Where Vivian Mentions Fish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. Long time, no see. I just edited this. The first chapter sucks imo. I like this one and the rest to follow. Thank u for the kudos, it means a lot!  
> Lots of inter-character relationship building here, enjoy.

It was raining when Vivian woke up. The soft pitter-patter of the large drops falling into the flower bed beneath her window. She heard the rain on the roof, a comforting hushing sound above her. The faint sound of thunder rumbled in the far distance. Vivian reveled in that moment, under the sheets, the morning light struggling to make it through both the clouds and the gray curtains, casting an equally gray light throughout the room.

Vivian reached to her nightstand and put on her glasses. The time on her alarm clock de-fuzzed and read eight thirty-two. She let her feet sink into the rug beside her bed before she hoisted her slow body down the hallway to check on Bucky. She quietly opened the door. The bed was made and there was no sign that anyone was living in the room at all, save for the duffel slouched next to the nightstand. Vivian thought nothing of it and padded to the kitchen.

The smell of brewing coffee overwhelmed her. He was leaning on the counter next to the coffee machine, reading yet another book. The Call of the Wild. He was in a fitted t-shirt, showing his muscular arm and metal shoulder, which had a protective sock around the end. Athletic shorts fell to his kneecaps, allowing Vivian to see how muscular his calves really were. She suddenly felt self-conscious in her pink tank top and white cotton shorts. She always felt insecure whenever Fury sent in a field agent. Nine times out of ten, they were outrageously fit. Broad shoulders and chiseled muscles for days. Vivian used to be a field agent until she was transferred. She became soft like she was before working in the field. She was less active, even though she had a few exercising machines in the basement, she didn’t need to stay fit to keep up with the rest of her teammates anymore. Admittedly, too, she began to eat more junk. It’s easier to do that in the comfort of your own home, instead of the living quarters on base. She now had the endurance of a bird with clipped wings. She needed to work out like she used to: often and intense.

“Morning,” Bucky broke Vivian of her reverie, “Hope you don’t mind I helped myself to the coffee.” Vivian waved him off.

“It’s fine. I just hope you made enough for me,” she smiled. She reached up into a cabinet next to Bucky and grabbed a pair of mugs, setting them next to the machine. Vivian busied herself with digging out a pan and lighting the gas stove. She grabbed the ingredients for breakfast sandwiches.

“Should be enough in there. Said it’s a four-cup pot. Nice choice on the flavor, too. Hazelnut’s one of my favorites.” 

“Thanks, it’s really the only kind I can self-brew without it tasting like dirt.” The coffee machine beeped as Vivian cracked an egg.

“I remember every single one. I remember their names. Their faces. Even their voices.” Bucky said with disdain, staring at the floor, forearm on his knees.

The pair sat in the basement, a finished and furnished carpeted room with a fish tank bubbling on one side and a computer on the other. One side of the basement was closed off for storage and whatnot, but the finished end was where Vivian’s therapy sessions took place. At the moment they were in the first phase of the EMDR session. Vivian wanted to know a more detailed background of Bucky. Sure, she read his large file the night before, but that didn’t make his past subjective. Some of the information could have been taken with misinformation. Vivian wanted his side of the story.

“I killed John F. Kennedy. I killed the fucking president. How – who in their right mind would – and I couldn’t control myself. Every time I was awake, every time I was working for Hydra, I felt like I was possessed. I was watching myself do these things. It was like being in the backseat of a car right before it crashes.” His fist clenched in his hair. “I’m responsible for so many deaths. I’m the cause for so much chaos and destruction.”

“Bucky. It was Hydra. You said yourself that you were being controlled. It was not you.” Vivian said with affirmation. Bucky looked at her, eyes dark and upset.

“I could have been stronger. I could have fought harder. I should have used my training to fight back. I… I should have died after the fall. I should be dead. None of this would have happened if I had died.” His voice cracked when he said the last word. Shoulders shook as his head dropped back into his hand. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Vivian said. She moved over to Bucky and dared to touch his knee. He tensed, and his hand smacked her arm away. 

“Don’t fucking touch me! It will never be okay! I’m a fucking monster! I could’ve stopped this before it started! I should have killed myself as soon as they found me!” Vivian could see him shaking. He was tugging at his hair and rocking himself back and forth. “I’m not worth your time. My mind is in shambles, I never sleep, and when I do—” He choked on a sob, “I see everyone who made me and everyone I hurt. I see kids and I see expecting mothers and—I’m not sure I can live with this.”

Vivian kneeled so that she would sit eye level with Bucky if he wasn’t hiding his face, “That is why you’re here. You’ve lived this long. Your best friend, what would he do without you? Don’t you want to know what it’s like to finally live again? Do more good than you have bad? Get yourself back together? You, Bucky, are so strong, and capable, and special. There is so much more to learn and see and do now that you’re free. You and I, we both can get you taped back together.”

“There’s just… so much guilt. If I choose to live with the Avengers, I would be living with someone whose parents I killed. It’s a constant reminder. He hates me. And he lets me know and he reminds me of that night every time he sees me.” He finally looked up, wiping his eyes and sniffling. Vivian offered him a tissue and he took it. His eyes were watery, eyelashes clinging together. “I don’t know how to live.” The amount of raw and sheer pain in his eyes made Vivian steel herself. 

“We are going to make it work. You will get better, Bucky. It will take time and it will hurt, I’m not going to lie about that one bit. We will both be exhausted. But I can’t help you if you don’t want to be helped.” Bucky nodded. She saw a tear tumble down his face and into his unshaven beard. He was hardly moving, everything tense.

“I’m going to touch you. Is that okay?” She asked this time. Bucky gave the slightest of nods. So Vivian rested her hand on his good shoulder. He was trembling. Hot. Already sweating. He was gasping for air, heaving, and wheezing. She saw the signs. The beginning of a panic attack. Not uncommon in the household. She moved next to him on the couch and wrapped her arms around him. Had they not been in this situation, Vivian would have laughed at herself for trying to be physically comforting towards a man twice her size. He grabbed her arm in a painful grasp. Vivian pushed past the feeling.

“Everything will be okay.” She voiced, “You’re safe here. Nobody wants to hurt you here. You’re okay. Ground yourself. Count the number of fish in the tank. Focus on the numbers. Count the paintings in the room. See how many green objects you can find.” She named off the distractions, “Take a deep breath. In for four counts, hold for four, release for four. Catch your breath.”

Bucky took more breaths, repeating his pattern. Long draw in, hold, slow release. She slowly felt him relax more and more. He was still trembling and hot. His hand slowly loosened on her arm. Slowly, together, they pulled away from one another, Vivian letting Bucky take initiative. 

“Sorry. I’m just… I…” Bucky’s voice cracked, making Vivian’s heart break for him. She interrupted him.

“How many fish were in the tank?” Vivian deflected his apology. He was clearly taken aback.

“W- huh?” Bucky stuttered.

“The fish. How many?” Vivian nodded to the tank, the soft sound of trickling water catching Bucky’s attention.

“Uh, six? I think? I couldn’t concentrate very well. They all look the same. Sorry.”

“Good enough. What matters is that you could focus on something else. You did well. Don’t apologize.” Vivian gave Bucky a reassuring pat on the back.

“Uh, thank you? I guess?” Bucky looked at her, eyes and nose still red.

“Let’s get you some food and water. We can take a small break and get back to this later, yeah?” 

Bucky crunched on an apple as he strolled through the garden. His pace leisurely, tennis shoes crunching on the gravel path before him. Vivian sunbathed on the bench next to the fountain, a wind chime creating soft music in the warm breeze. She was barefoot, one of her toes dipping into the water. She could see the patterned koi just below the surface, floating as slowly as Bucky was walking. His brown wavy hair let down. She had an urge to sift her fingers through those waves. Pull it into a half-bun, braid it, style it.

She watched as he lazily looped around the path and came up to the bench. She moved over and patted the spot next to her. He sat.

“Nice weather out, huh?” he asked conversationally.

“Crazy rain we had this morning. So glad it’s beautiful out now,” Vivian replied in the same tone. 

“I remember living in the Midwest. I missed the simplicity. We would talk about the weather like it was the hottest gossip in town.” Bucky guffawed in reminiscence. 

“Not much has changed in the time you’ve been gone.” Vivian hummed in agreement.

There was comfortable silence as they soaked in the sun. It cut through Vivian and seemed to pleasantly warm her bones. It wasn’t too cool or too hot, and it wasn’t too humid or windy. Her head lolled as she glanced over to Bucky, whose eyes were closed, and arm stretched out on the back of the bench behind her. He must have sensed her looking at him because he peeked out of the corner of his eye before his head followed and he smiled at her.

“Thank you,” he said simply.

“You don’t have to thank me, Bucky, I love doing what I do, even without gratitude.”

“It’s the most I can do right now, and I feel horrible because I can’t pay you back. It’s almost an obligation, I grew up with those expectations. You’re helping me get through something I could never get through on my own. It’s the very least you deserve. Thank you.”

“You don-”

“I’m not taking that back, sorry. Not really.” He gave her a big smile. Vivian jokingly rolled her eyes, smiling back to him.

The next day was a break-day. She woke up and showered. She dressed and stepped out of her room, finding Bucky with a book on the couch. After breakfast, Vivian perked up.

“Let’s go for a walk. I have something to show you,” she said, slipping on a pair of hiking boots. Bucky followed her through the door.

“Where are we going?” They walked through and out of the garden, into the small meadow, and towards the tree line. 

“You’ll see,” was all Vivian said over her shoulder, light glinting from her glasses, obstructing Bucky’s view of her eyes. They walked into the trees, a small footpath winding like a maze through the thick shrubbery.

“Deer paths,” Vivian said, “You can even track them on this same path in the winter. They lead to either water or to where they bed.” 

“You hunt?” Bucky asked, keeping his eyes on the ground as to not trip over any fallen branches. 

“No, dad and I used to learn as much as we could about nature. He was a birder of sorts. He’d come out and just sit with a pair of binoculars and a journal. It was his hobby.”

Bucky chuckled, “Wish I had that type of patience.” Vivian agreed with a smile and shrug. She tromped through the large brush, creating a visible path through the shin-length greens. She stopped suddenly and looked around her. 

“Nettles.” She pointed at a plant with a teardrop-shaped leaf, “Don’t touch them. They burn. I’d rather roll around in a rosebush.” Bucky took note of the plant and followed Vivian around the expansive patch of the painful plants.

“You know what poison ivy and oak look like, right? Cause you really, really don’t want that.”

“Yeah, I know. Been there, done that.” Bucky chuckled at himself, remembering the days when he was with Steve and the Howling Commandos. In the moments of silence, his mind wandered back to the train and the fall, sacrificing himself for Steve. The fall lasted a lifetime for him. His life really did flash before his eyes. He remembered he wished he’d told Steve to not do anything stupid. To take care of Peggy. Most of all, he wished he’d told Steve that he loved him. He remembered his family and how they would be devastated. He flashed through all his regrets. I love you, I love you, I love you. I’m sorry. Be safe. I love you. I’m so sorry. This is how I die, he thought. Make it quick, God, please be merciful.

But he didn’t die and Hydra… damn them. Damn God. God was not on his side. Damn that bastard. Because of Hydra, he was going to hell. Because of Hydra, he killed. Because of his weak mind giving in, he allowed Hydra to do those horrible things to those innocent people. Because of his weak mind, he wouldn’t be here. He wouldn’t have been with Hydra, he would have – should have – gotten out before they hurt him. He’d be safe. Everyone would have been safe. He’d have been happy. He’d be old and bedridden if he got out. He’d maybe have kids that would take care of him. Weak. His mind was weak. He was weak. He wasn’t enough. He should have done more. He needed to do more. He wasn’t enough. Not enough. Not –

Vivian called his name. She was far ahead. She saw his disturbed face: brows bunched and mouth set in a frown. Her voice grounded him some. But he knew that she could see right through him. Bucky, the real Bucky, emoted much easier than the Winter Soldier. 

“You good?” She asked when he was closer.

“Yeah. Just…caught up in thoughts.” He let his face relax, a small smile replacing his frown. 

“C’mon, we aren’t quite there yet.” Vivian turned. Bucky wished, deep down, to the point where it was just a blip of a thought, that she had grabbed his hand and laced their fingers together and excitedly dragged him along. But instead, there she was in hiking boots, bright pink athletic shorts, and an old gray t-shirt. Her hair was pulled up in a bun, frizzy flyaways casting a halo of caught sunlight around her head. She had a sizeable stick that she used for walking. Sweat glistened on the back of her neck in the late June morning. 

Entranced, Bucky followed.

Vivian led him to where the woods opened up again. There was a lake. Not big. It was almost too small to be called a lake, but it was definitely too big to be called a pond. It looked as though it had been forgotten. There was an old and rotting wooden dock in front of an equally rotted cabin with its roof caved in and with overgrown brush and moss crawling up and choking what was left. Vivian kicked off her boots and socks. She waded into the water to her ankles. She beckoned Bucky to do the same. He was hesitant at first.

“Chill, I’ve gone swimming here since I was a kid. It’s fine. There’re no monsters unless you count the minnows that nibble your toes.” So Bucky went barefoot and waded into the water next to her. He saw the silty sand billow from beneath his feet with each step. Again, he had the sudden urge to grab Vivian’s hand and just hold it. But the two just stood there and took in the sound of the lake’s water rippling in the breeze. The air felt refreshingly clean, and the water was cool, having yet to warm up in the early summer.

Vivian nudged him, “Wiggle your toes. See if there’re any hungry fishes.”

Right then is when Bucky decided he had a schoolboy crush on Vivian and there was nothing he could do about it. Or…

Vivian’s legs came out from under her, causing her to yelp in surprise as she splashed into the water, narrowly missing a handhold on Bucky’s shirt as she fell. 

“Bucky!” she screamed and laughed at the same time. She shot through the water and pulled Bucky’s legs together, then yanked them towards her. He lost his balance and laughed as he plummeted. Their clothes grew dirty from rolling in the silty undisturbed lake water.

“Catch ya later,” she said and waded through the water before ducking under. Bucky watched her figure just under the surface before she popped back up a few yards further. Her hair was plastered all over her face. She laughed for a moment and ducked back under. When she came back up, her hair was over her face completely. She started drifting towards Bucky. 

“Ha ha, very funny. I know your reference,” Bucky rolled his eyes before he waded out and met her. She fixed her hair under the water again. He looked at her with amused eyes, noticing she was treading – and slightly panting – where he was only up to his shoulders in the cool water.

“What’re you lookin’ at?” She panted and suddenly splashed him.

“Hey-!” Bucky exclaimed and splashed her back. Vivian squealed and then they were in a water fight, Vivian ducking under and swimming away before Bucky could splash, but he somehow always met her as soon as she came back up for air to splash again. When she started coughing, Buck stopped, his smile fading, but not disappearing.

“Hey, you good? Don’t have to save your ass yet?” Vivian shook her head and made her way to where she could touch before she caught her breath. 

“Okay, whew, I’m good,” she said finally, “Wait, save my ass yet? What does that mean?” Her tone was teasing, but Bucky sputtered anyway, trying to come up with an answer. Vivian grinned triumphantly. 

The pair spent some time floating in the water until Vivian grew cold. She sat on the leafy ground, watching Bucky, who floated on his back with his arm out. He kept sinking every few minutes before he grew tired of floating and decided to come back to shore. The heat of the mid-day sun warmed them both and dried their clothes slowly. Bucky sat next to Vivian, squinting at the reflection of the sun on the small forgotten lake. Water dripped from his hair, pattering on last autumn’s fallen leaves. They sat in friendly silence, soaking in the warm sun.

“You do this often?” Bucky asked Vivian, not looking away from the water.

“Not usually. Some of my patients don’t really-“

“I meant just you. You come out here often?” 

“I… I guess so. I mean, it’s like my garden. Just a tranquil place. I feel like out here, though, you can actually get away from… things, you know? Life. Stress. Frustrations. It’s really where I run to when I need to clear my head. That’s what I like about being in the country. It’s easy to get away. It’s slow, never busy. It relaxes me. When I was based at the SHEILD headquarters, I was losing my mind. The city just seemed to whisk me away into a ghost of myself. It could have been because I was at SHIELD and always had something to do, but paired with how fast-paced city life is? I don’t know.

“I grew up in this area. I was that high schooler who couldn’t wait to get out of this slow life. I needed to move. I went to an urban university. Traveled the East Coast in search of a job with my degree. Got into SHIELD in DC. But I lost myself. I was brutal to myself. I trained to be a field agent to understand my own frustrations and beat the shit out of them. When I almost killed my partner, I was sent to therapy. Again. I talked with my boss. I told her everything. And she sent me here, back home. She wanted me to find myself again. What better way than to come back, right? 

“I found a job about half an hour south of here. Therapy. It helped me find myself and help others do the same. Got a call from my boss a year or so later. They kept eyes on me, I realized. Told me that they wanted some agents rehabilitated, especially after the events of New York and Sokovia. They set me up here and the rest is history.” Vivian was picking at a particularly large stalk of overgrown grass. She pulled it from the ground and tickled Bucky’s leg with it. 

“You can take the girl from the small town, but you can’t take the small town from the girl, y’know?” She gave a huffy laugh. 

“Reminds me of a song…,” Bucky said with a smirk playing. “Were you, by any chance, lonely and riding a midnight train?”

“Shut the hell up, you dinosaur,” Vivian giggled with a groan.


	3. Of Punching Bags and Panic Attacks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha yuuuuuhhhh get into ittt i finally got rid of my writer's block after like 4 months ahaha  
> also cw for a mild panic attack. also count how many times i say "trigger"  
> anyway enjoy the chapter

The next few weeks consisted of the on-off routine of therapy. Bucky was making considerable progress, but she could still sometimes hear him shouting in his sleep. On the bad nights, she would lean against his doorframe and watch him. Sometimes she took physical notes, but usually, they were just observations. If they escalated beyond her comfort, she would wake him gently. His tears and sweat mixed and he would mutter a soft “sorry” before downing the glass of water on his nightstand. He usually kept his distance from her after those nights. 

They discovered some of his triggers, like saying certain words. They deduced that perhaps they were orders aside from the original ten to bring out the Winter Soldier. Sometimes loud noises, like a door closing too loudly or a crack of thunder, would startle him and send him into a state of paranoia. News channels, especially when announcing criminals, made Bucky get up and walk away. The smell of ammonia or alcohol or bleach made him throw up. Every trigger found was a trigger recorded. 

Vivian played first-person shooter video games with Bucky as a type of exposure therapy. For the less extreme triggers, they agreed to do this type of therapy. For the moment the more extreme triggers were talked about if they were even brought up at all. 

She got the go-ahead from Director Fury to take Bucky grocery shopping to get him out of the house. However, he was to keep a low profile and make his outings short-lived. They both took what they could get. He still wasn’t well-acquainted with the general public yet. Many had yet to understand what had happened, and some who refused to believe him, which meant plenty of people who feared and hated Bucky.

With Bucky and Vivian working hard to mend him, he was not only Vivian’s most important and cherished client but also the one she had grown closest to. With how broken Bucky was, Vivian found parts of herself that needed healing as well. While the past was something neither of them wanted to bring up, they both found solace in listening to one another.

On the off days, they frequently found themselves getting bored. So Bucky used the sparse training equipment Vivian had in her basement to stay in shape. Vivian would often wander down and watch him when she woke up in the morning. Eventually, about a week of this routine, Bucky offered to help her brush up on hand-to-hand combat and teach her more skills. 

“Yes, good,” Bucky said, watching her stance, “I can tell it’s been a while, but it’s still there.” He came to stand right in front of her. “Now punch me.”

“What?” Her stance wavered, and she lifted her chin to see if he was serious. He was.

“I can take it, go ahead. Don’t hold back.” He held his arm up in a defensive stance. She took a deep breath, adjusted her footing, then delivered a left hook followed with a right jab. However, before any of her fists could land, he blocked her hook and grabbed her right wrist and twisted until she was spun around and grunting at the slight pain in her shoulder as her arm pinned to her back.

“Not bad for a guy with one arm,” she chided. 

“Not bad for a gal who hasn’t thrown a single fist in years,” he teased back. She could hear his smile.

“Ouch. Touché.” Bucky released her. 

“Again,” he said with certainty and set himself for defense.

It wasn’t long until Vivian started working out with Bucky in order to keep up with him in both strength and stamina. Slowly, the training went from a quick hour to nearly four. Every time Bucky saw a flaw in Vivian’s techniques, he would fix it. He would lightly tap her ankles or elbows to sit where they needed to be. They were fleeting, but the touches were never longer than they needed to be. Vivian was almost offended by how lightly and how quickly his fingers brushed her skin to correct a mistake. It was almost like he was revolted to touch her. Or he thought she was too fragile, and he might break her. She was not fragile in any way. She could kick his ass if she didn’t hold back.

However, she never could. He was too quick to block, or at least dodge most of her kicks and punches.

They were making incredible progress until nearly a month in.

Vivian came running when Bucky shouted from his room. He paced the floor and fisted his hair, ragged breaths escaping his lungs. He whipped toward the movement in the doorway. Something dark clouded his eyes. Immediately, Vivian knew Bucky wasn’t fully there. It took Vivian a split second to understand what was happening. He was fighting the Winter Soldier. Dread flooded Vivian’s senses and she became acutely aware of the space around her. Her ICE bracelet was in her room, as were the sedatives.

But first, she needed to try to get to Bucky. 

“Bucky? Can you speak?” Vivian stood her ground. She was gentle, tiptoeing on eggshells. She didn’t want him to lash out and hurt himself or her. His face flickered between fury and fear, a war waged in his eyes. His mouth opened as if he was going to say something, but he quickly shook his head and shouted, dropping to the ground. 

“Ground yourself, Bucky,” Vivian ordered. “You are here, this is real. You take that strength and you fight him. You are James Buchanan Barnes. You were born in Indiana well over a hundred years ago. Your best friend is Steve Rogers. Come to the present.” It pained her to watch Bucky in such agony. He let out another scream, tears spilling from his eyes. He gripped at his metal shoulder as if he was attempting to pull it off. 

Watching Bucky writhe on the floor in a mixture of agony and terror was the last straw for Vivian. She ran to her room, slipping on her bracelet and retrieving the case of prepared syringes of sedatives. When she returned to Bucky, he was gasping for air. Vivian didn’t hesitate to firmly grab his arm. 

“Bucky, you look at me. You are safe. Give me a sign that you’re here.” She patiently waited for a response. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally opened his eyes. They were dark and pained, but they were trained on her. Bucky gathered his strength and slowly, he nodded.

“Bucky, this is lorazepam. I was informed that they were giving this to you before you came here.” Vivian snapped on a pair of latex gloves and swiped an alcohol pad over his exposed bicep. “This is gonna knock you out for a few minutes. You’re going to be okay. I will be right here the entire time.” And with that, she injected the sedative. Bucky grabbed her arm as he surrendered to unconsciousness. Vivian eyed the time. 

She stared at Bucky, got a really good look at him for the first time. She could see signs of his crow’s feet and smile lines beginning to form. She wondered what he was like before the war. A nerd, apparently. Or that’s what the textbooks said. A scientifical futuristic geek. Had it not been for Hydra, she assumed, he might have dug the whole Super Soldier Serum thing. A brief thought crossed her mind – how would young Bucky react to Bucky right now, problems aside? He would love the metal arm, the enhanced abilities, the tech he would acquire once he was admitted to outpatient care. It was truly shameful how much Hydra monumentally fucked Bucky up.

She shook herself from those thoughts and decided to focus on something else. She took his hand, inspected his fingers. He kept them surprisingly neat and he didn’t seem to carry the nail-biting tic. She wove her fingers into his, just to see what it would feel like if they – Vivian quickly abandoned the thought. But his hand was so warm and, despite the callouses, smooth, soft even. She resisted the urge to bring his hand to her mouth and kiss it. So she dropped his hand to avoid her impulse. 

Then Vivian simply studied him and took mental notes of his appearance. Crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, creases on his forehead, spattered freckles, the hint of a five o’clock shadow. His brown hair stuck to his skin where he’d begun to sweat. Vivian brushed the loose strands from his face. She noticed the telltale holes in his earlobes. Bucky wore earrings at some point? Interesting. 

She had just over two months left to make this man functional for the Avengers. He’d be admitted to outpatient, which meant being assigned to a new therapist. She might not be able to see him again, given the circumstances. She would be expected to collect her paycheck and move on. Bucky would have to move on as well. A big part of her wanted him to stay longer. Or at least be introduced to missions at a slower pace. Bucky was a man, not a machine and the least he deserved was to be treated as such. Fury wanted her to fix his broken toy. This poor man with trauma to last him lifetimes would need longer than a few months to wrap his head around what happened to him. But this was her job and she needed to do it.

She needed to work harder than ever on this man for her boss, not herself, Vivian thought to herself coldly. And with that, she shut down any other thoughts for herself.

Bucky came to after nearly ten minutes. He was slow, groggy. It took nearly twenty minutes to get him conscious enough to get him back to his bed. 

“Do you need anything?” Vivian offered when he pulled the blankets up to his chin.

“Water,” he mumbled, eyes already slipping closed. 

When Vivian came back to his room with a glass of water, he was already asleep. She’d give him time to recover. In the meantime, she was going to study the phrases in the file she was given. She had finally formed a coherent idea to help Bucky.

Vivian wandered to Bucky’s room to check on him after she finished studying and working out. She began to say something when she noticed he wasn’t in his bed, but suddenly lost all train of thought. She managed to catch him after a shower. Shorts on, yes, but his bare chest was out for the world – or Vivian, rather – to see. Vivian immediately forgot what she was going to say. Her mouth went dry. She caught his gnarly scar surrounding his shoulder, along with plenty of smaller battle scars. Right. She remembered now.

“I was just, ah, checking in. I’ll be in my office. If you want to talk today. I know that stuff can make you sleepy so just, ah… we can take it slow, too. If you want. Sorry to bother.” She flushed as soon as she realized she’d been staring for just a long enough time to consider awkward. “Talk to you later,” she blurted before abruptly tearing herself away from the sight of the slightly damp Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. She tried to fan her flush away as she rushed into the basement, silently scolding herself. 

Her blush crept back when Bucky walked in. His hair was still damp, and his waves were more prominent than usual. And, yes, he had a shirt on. Had he noticed her staring a few minutes ago? How embarrassing. She had to snap out of it. Already, she knew something was up with Bucky. He seemed removed. He was zoning out into that horrible place again. 

“I’m numb again. Last night was hard on me.” He looked more upset than usual. 

“Talking scale?” Vivian asked.

“One. I need time.”

“Oh. Um, well, okay.” Bucky really, really didn’t want to talk, then. She had never gotten below a three with him. “Alright.” She said with purpose. “Meditation.” She stood up and grabbed her phone and connected it to a speaker. She began playing one of her playlists. Soft music. Just instrumentals, nothing with lyrics. It was sometimes more palatable than having to digest lyrics. 

“So stand up.” Vivian stretched, “If you want you can stretch, too.” He shrugged. “Okay, now lay on the floor with me.” He followed, laying down next to Vivian so that they were almost touching shoulders. “Now listen and breathe. In for four counts, hold for four, then release for four. You can choose to let your mind wander, too, so long as you take deeper and slower breaths. I usually go to my favorite place. Think of a happy memory or a happy future. Or a place you find comforting. Somewhere you call home. Just breathe and wander. Avoid the darkness, we can come back to that later. For now, focus on peace.” She closed her eyes, caught a whiff of Bucky’s shampoo, and melted into the carpet a little bit. 

Some time had passed, and she was sure Bucky was asleep until she heard him clear his throat. 

“I had feeling in my arm before Tony blew it off,” he said quietly with a sense of melancholy. “I was doing better until Steve dragged me back into his mess. I get why he did it. He and I- we’re all we have left. And I know Tony was on edge with me, and especially with Steve. But when Tony found out I had killed his parents, I wanted to run. I saw something in him that was in me. Confusion. Agony. Blind rage. Betrayal. It’s how I would always come back. When I finally grabbed onto the steering wheel from the Winter Soldier. I would come back so… I was in so much pain. I was in disbelief once I came back to myself. And maybe I didn’t know exactly who I was, but I knew what I did was so horrifying. And I remember the pain that came with the wiping. It was nothing compared to the pain of when my arm got blasted.” Bucky grabbed Vivian’s hand and slipped it under the neck of his shirt to just past his left pectoral. Vivian felt like she was about to explode. She gathered herself up. This was not a time for high-school level swooning. Besides, she needed to focus on the task at hand. Bucky was putting his trust in her. He was sharing something so intimate with her.

He pressed her fingers firmly into his muscle. She could feel his heart beating faintly. But then she felt something out of place.

“Those aren’t my ribs. Those are the roots of my arm. They helped balance the weight of it, and it kept the arm cemented to me.” Bucky took a deep breath. “If Tony’s blast had been any hotter or had he kept it on me much longer, the metal inside could have burned through my heart and left lung. And, no, my arm didn’t hurt for long. I had minimal feeling; just pressures. Can’t feel the wind or feathers or anything.” Bucky traced her fingertips over his scar tissue edging the metal. “This is the part that hurt the most, by far. My muscles were torn up and everything got fucked up for some time. But thanks to Doctor Cho, I was recovering quickly. Then I got shipped here. To you.” He pulled their hands from his shirt, but he didn’t let go. He was just lightly holding it. Vivian took in a deep breath to ground herself. He was using her as support and comfort. She had to be his therapist, not his lover. 

“Is that all you wanted to tell me?” Vivian pushed gently. Bucky didn’t answer but just squeezed her hand.

“I’m running out of notebooks. Think we can get more?” He finally asked. He relaxed some, but Vivian could tell that he was still holding back.

Vivian woke up. She couldn’t recall falling asleep, but she must have. Her book lay open on her chest, one hand over it, and the other hand tangled in Bucky’s hair. They decided to relax after the session. Vivian read while Bucky watched a game of baseball playing on the TV. It was one of his favorite sports, she found out. At some point, she remembered Bucky shifting his head onto her shoulder, then later into her lap. An attention whore.

Orange rays of sunlight streamed through the windows and into the living room and the game was in the eighth inning, the Red Sox absolutely obliterating the Tigers. Bucky twitched in his sleep. He must have woken her on accident. However, when she glanced at his face, it was scrunched up. He twitched again. She saw his shoulders tense and his jaw muscle move as he clenched his teeth. Vivian didn’t need much more evidence to know he was having one of his nightmares. 

Vivian moved her fingers to massage his scalp instinctively. She remembered her partners in the past longed for her touch in this way. He gasped and shot up, startling Vivian, who retracted her hand from him before she lost it if he went primal.

Thankfully he hadn’t. He looked at her. He had dark circles around his eyes. She watched him gain his bearings. His confused, angry, hurt face turned soft and he sighed.

“Nightmare?” Vivian asked. He knew she already knew. And he knew she was just being sympathetic of him. 

“Yeah.” Bucky’s voice was hoarse and deep from sleep. He had to fight his eyelids yet again. 

“You hungry?” Vivian asked.

He thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, I could go for some food.” 

Before Vivian could get up though, Bucky relaxed back into her lap. She rolled her eyes at him and played with his soft hair again. He involuntarily hummed in contentment. 

“If I go any harder, you’ll start doing the leg thing, like what dogs do.” Bucky snorted a laugh.

“Good thing I have lots of room for humility.” He shot back. Then, much to her dismay, Bucky sat back up. God, she was restraining herself to kiss him on his dumb, pink lips. But she remembered her promise to herself and forced herself to think of him as a client.

“How about chicken and noodles? I’m in the mood for some soup.”

“Sounds soup-er,” Bucky added with a laugh. Vivian cringed.

“Shut the fuck up, Sergeant.” 

“Or what, you’ll put me in my place? Talk me to death?”

“Hey, now, you’re the one who taught me how to throw a mean right hook.”

“Jesus Christ, was that a threat? Have I been threatened? Are you legally allowed to say that? Fury might get – wait for it – Fury-ous.”

“Fuck. How much time do I have left with you?”


End file.
